Wednesday, March 25, 2015


I'm not quite sure where to start. There's just so much to share.

I'm 51 years old and it's an absolute miracle that I'm still here.

The first 40 years of existence was nothing more than hopeless.

I was abandoned, abused, abducted and accused.
Depressed and desperate.
Tearful and tormented.

No matter my intentions and feeble attempts at fixing "me", nothing seemed to change. It was my fault. Whatever it was, I was to blame.

If I just did it better, did it less, did it more or just didn't do it at all- it would THEN be okay. I had to try HARDER! I had to change. THEN the world would be a much better place.

I looked to it all.

  • education, 
  • money 
  • self-help 
  • occults 
  • hospitals 
  • physical exercise 
  • psychiatry 
  • work 
  • physicians 
  • family 
  • surgery 
  • relocation 

... piercings and cutting and, yes, even suicide. 

It only got worse. 

In anguish and cast to the floor I would cry out to God and ask "Why?" That was my prayer. "Why", God, is this happening!?... Why is this always happening!?" 

I use the word "prayer" but at that time I really wasn't aware I was praying. I was merely talking to God. 

No doubt- He was. I always knew- He was. That He existed. I can't remember a time in my life that there ever was a question. God has always been as real as breathing to me. 

Grass is green and the sky is blue- and there is God. Water is wet and snow is cold- and there is God. I brush my teeth and comb my hair- and there is God. I like Raggedy Ann and I don't like peas- and there is God. 


I remember as a little girl I used to see tiny dots in the air. Kinda like Mega- Pixels in a digital camera. I was sure those dots were God. No alternative reasoning ever came to mind. I could actually see Him. Didn't everybody? Weird, huh.

It gets better!

I wasn't raised in church or in any specific religion. We didn't "say grace" at dinner and we didn't "say prayers" at bedtime. When an infant I was christened but, as for church, I think we went maybe... once... twice.

However, in adolescence I can remember my Grammie speaking some serious prayers over me as she touched my forehead with oil. I don't recall the words or the language or even what led up to it, but I know this... I was feeling oddly special and could trust it.

At some point I mentioned it to my parents. While rolling their eyes they explained... " it's okay... Grammie's just crazy... just let her do it if she wants... it's nothing..."

It would be 30 more years, give or take, before I was even to hear the words "tongue" or "anointing".

testimony by: Hallie Agar

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